(no subject)
To make my entries less lengthy and more readable, I am trying to post more often.
I've had a deep but relatively unexplored interest in poetry since the time I began loving books (very young), and this new class on Ukrainian poetry has been bringing it out in me. The last poet we studied, Pavlo Tychyna, was a young writer during the period directly after Russia's Orange Revolution and during the bolshevik uprisings, when Ukraine was being torn apart by warring factions. (This is 1917-early 1920s.) I love the way poetry can meld together art and social criticism, many times in a much more concise and evocative way than longer forms of literature. One of my favorite, though less complex poems by Tychyna is below;
I love no one
as much as the whipping wind.
Infernal wind! Accursed wind!
It will lift its hand to strike-
howling! whistling! swirling!
dead leaves in the grove
are already like the devil's seed...
Or: it will take root in the muddy field,
it will boost the power of train cars-
oh, when they rush along the rails
even the poplars will bend!...
Infernal wind! Accursed wind!
Rabindranath sits in Bengalia:
there's no spirit of rebellion among us: man is just clay-
The wind from Ukraine is roaring with laughter,
the wind from Ukraine!
Through lenses the west peers as if through gratings:
is this the march of a beast or that of a man?
The wind from Ukraine is roaring with laughter,
the wind from Ukraine!
Infernal wind! Accursed wind!
It raises its bushy head from the Dnipro:
don't expect good from it, gentlemen:
the game is futile!
Ah,
I love no one
as much as the whipping wind.
its paths, its aching pain
and the land,
this land of mine.
His lyrical style makes all of his poetry truly fun to read, even if all of it doesn't translate with grace into English.
I have eaten a salad. And now I take a nap before my classes.
I've had a deep but relatively unexplored interest in poetry since the time I began loving books (very young), and this new class on Ukrainian poetry has been bringing it out in me. The last poet we studied, Pavlo Tychyna, was a young writer during the period directly after Russia's Orange Revolution and during the bolshevik uprisings, when Ukraine was being torn apart by warring factions. (This is 1917-early 1920s.) I love the way poetry can meld together art and social criticism, many times in a much more concise and evocative way than longer forms of literature. One of my favorite, though less complex poems by Tychyna is below;
I love no one
as much as the whipping wind.
Infernal wind! Accursed wind!
It will lift its hand to strike-
howling! whistling! swirling!
dead leaves in the grove
are already like the devil's seed...
Or: it will take root in the muddy field,
it will boost the power of train cars-
oh, when they rush along the rails
even the poplars will bend!...
Infernal wind! Accursed wind!
Rabindranath sits in Bengalia:
there's no spirit of rebellion among us: man is just clay-
The wind from Ukraine is roaring with laughter,
the wind from Ukraine!
Through lenses the west peers as if through gratings:
is this the march of a beast or that of a man?
The wind from Ukraine is roaring with laughter,
the wind from Ukraine!
Infernal wind! Accursed wind!
It raises its bushy head from the Dnipro:
don't expect good from it, gentlemen:
the game is futile!
Ah,
I love no one
as much as the whipping wind.
its paths, its aching pain
and the land,
this land of mine.
His lyrical style makes all of his poetry truly fun to read, even if all of it doesn't translate with grace into English.
I have eaten a salad. And now I take a nap before my classes.